


Definitely Delightful

by nataliecrown (Damerey)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU-modern setting, Bellarke, F/M, Fluff, Minor Octavia Blake, Minor Raven Reyes, minor nathan miller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 10:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6149974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damerey/pseuds/nataliecrown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake is an asshole, and that is not a topic that Clarke is willing to debate.</p><p>Clarke Griffin is a fucking delight, and that is not something that Bellamy will ever admit out loud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Definitely Delightful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ms_scarlet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_scarlet/gifts).



> I can't believe that Bellarke have made me fic again. But there you go.
> 
> Just a quick bit of fluff because I suddenly couldn't help myself.

Bellamy Blake is an asshole, and that is not a topic that Clarke is willing to debate.

'He's not that bad,' says Raven, tipping her head back to watch the stars.

Clarke snorts, and swigs her beer.

It wouldn't be so bad if she only had to see him at the Classics Society. He was the year above her, so she could handle his smirking and his superior sense of intelligence and his continuous attempts to rile her up when she only had to deal with it once a week. Only, now he had started popping up at these _things_ she did with her friends. It didn't matter if they were as much his friends as hers. He was BFF's with Murphy and Miller you see, and obviously he needed to keep an eye on Lincoln and Octavia - _obviously_. And then Miller fell for Monty. And Raven had already befriended Monty and Jasper. And Clarke was utterly devoted to her best friend in the whole world, Raven Reyes...

Well, she was devoted to her when she was talking _sense_.

'He _is_ that bad.'

Raven shrugs, 'You're staring at him.'

Clarke almost chokes on her next mouthful of beer. She sees Bellamy's head turn in her direction, and quickly looks away.

'I am _not_.'

Raven raises an eyebrow.

So yeah, that was how they ended up doing these things all together. Tonight, they were camping. Tents had been pegged up haphazardly, most of them were likely to collapse in the night. A campfire had been lit, which was probably a horrendous hazard. There was about a hundred times more booze than there was food, which meant there was a high chance they'd all puke through the night. And Murphy was blasting hits from the 90's from his car, which - actually - Clarke was secretly loving a lot.

Clarke adores these nights, when she can forget about uni and the society and her Internship. She might not be as gung ho as the others, as able to let loose, but she adores these nights all the same. Only _Bellamy Blake is an asshole_.

Maybe she _is_ staring.

He's across from her, with the fire between them. It's casting his profile in the most ludicrously delightful light. His hair is a mess, and it infuriates her because all he needs to do is _pick up a hairbrush_. He's wearing his glasses, which she has _never_ seen him wear on campus (not that she notices), and they somehow manage to make him look like even more of an idiot. He's slouched back in his camp chair, looking strangely content even though Lincoln's arms are wrapped around Octavia's waist right in front of him. Actually, it's kind of hard not to stare at him. And that pisses Clarke off.

He looks across at her again and Clarke jerks out of her chair.

'I'm getting a drink,' she snaps.

She pretends not to hear Raven laughing as she walks away.

***

Clarke Griffin is a fucking delight, and that is not something that Bellamy will ever admit out loud.

'Another?'

It takes him a moment to notice that Miller is holding out a beer. It's not because he's staring at her, but rather than he's watching her staring at him. He can feel her glare over the fire, and he's been smirking about it ever since she set up camp opposite him.

Bellamy takes the beer without a word, and Miller rolls his eyes before slinging his arm around Monty's shoulders again. Bellamy would never admit it out loud, but he sometimes wonders if people know anyway. He kind of can't be bothered to care. _Prove it_ , he thinks.

So Bellamy continues to watch Clarke Griffin out of the corner of his eyes. Reyes says something, and Clarke's cheeks flush pink.

Bellamy tries not to hope too hard.

When he stops and thinks about it, he feels a little foolish. He should be cool about it really. She's younger than he is, she knows less about Homer than he does, and he always knows exactly what to say to get her to puff up in that adorable way that she does when she's mad.

But that's just it. Bellamy Blake thinks Clarke Griffin - queen of the ice cold stare and the brutal put downs - is adorable. It's honestly fucking embarrassing.

For a while it didn't really seem to matter. She'd come along to the Classics Society once a week, she'd try to take over and he'd fight her over it just to irritate her. He'd think she was cute, and then it was over for a week. Only then Miller started dating Monty and now, somehow, they hang out together.

Well, _kind of_. They hang out with the same people, and she glares at him.

But Bellamy Blake has a secret, a secret that only Clarke Griffin knows.

This time last week? Clarke Griffin was drunk. Not horrifically drunk, but definitely more drunk than usual. And Clarke Griffin kissed Bellamy Blake.

The memory of the kiss burns in Bellamy's mind and before he can catch himself, he looks directly at her.

She lurches to her feet like she's been shot, and stomps away.

Bellamy licks his lips, places his bottle down, and follows.

***

When Clarke reaches Murphy's car, she has to take a second for her ears to adjust to his awful sound system up close. Then she takes a deep breath and leans against the open door.

'Hand me one.'

She jumps out of her skin. Her heart literally leaps up into her throat, and she scowls harder than she has all night. The scowl is entirely directed at herself.

When she turns around, she hopes that he might think the scowl is entirely aimed at him. But then she actually _sees_ him. She sees his dimples, and she sees the spark of light in his eyes (he has taken his glasses off and she can't help wondering what that _means_ ), and she sees him scratch behind his ear, and she sees that he actually looks a little bit awkward. Which, coincidentally, was exactly how he had looked last week before she kissed him.

She was drunk, sure, but she remembers every second.

She realises that it's hard to scowl at him all of the time. A part of her wonders why she tries so hard to keep it up.

His eyes drop to her lips, just for a moment.

 _For fucks sake_.

'What do you want?'

Still smirking. 'Er, a drink?'

Her movements jerking and weird and _stupid_ , Clarkes reaches into the cool bag on Murphy's back seat and holds out a beer.

Of course, the fucker wraps most of her hand in his when he moves to take it.

They stand there, staring at one another, their hands burning despite the cold beer.

'Take it then,' she blurts, wondering if she might actually combust. That might actually be helpful.

He tilts his head. _Asshole_.

'Why do you pretend to hate me?'

'Pretend? I'm not pretending anything.'

They're still holding the beer. His grip shifts, his fingers brushing hers. He takes a step closer.

'But you don't actually hate me?'

Clarke wishes she knew how to handle this situation. She wishes she'd stayed at the campfire. But then, also, she doesn't.

'Sometimes.'

His eyebrow quirks and he steps closer still. His hand releases hers, and she is both relieved and disappointed. She kind of wishes she could punch herself in the face. She is equally relieved and disappointed when he puts the beer back in the cool bag and wraps both his hands around hers.

Mostly relieved.

She's not sure if he pulls her closer, or if she steps towards him. She's fairly certain she has taken leave of every single one of her senses.

She's not even drunk yet.

'Occasionally,' she mutters.

'Occasionally?'

'I think you're an asshole.'

'I think you like me because I'm an asshole.'

He's so close she can smell him. There's a hint of beer on his breath. But mostly he smells of Bellamy. She has always secretly liked the smell of Bellamy.

'I happen to like nice men.'

 _Oh, jesus._ His eyes light up at that. Clarke wants the ground to swallow her. Don't fucking quote _Star Wars_.

Only, in quoting _fucking Star Wars_ they both know this is only ending one way.

He leans in close, his eyes holding hers. 'I'm nice men.'

Clarke grabs his face and pulls it down to hers. He grunts, surprised, and then his arms wrap around her and he pulls her right up against him. _So_ up against him. She kisses him, deep. He growls into her throat and pushes her back against the car.

They both forget that they are within steps of their friends.

'Christ,' Octavia sighs, 'will you two just fuck already.'

Bellamy pulls away from the kiss, though the closeness that he keeps between them promises that this is only a brief interlude, and he looks _mortified_. Octavia smirks at him, reaches around them to grab another pack of beers, and saunters off again.

Bellamy drops his head to Clarke's shoulder, and sort of nuzzles her neck.

He's still an asshole.

She's still going to get mad at him in Classics Society, and glare at him when he doesn't brush his stupid hair.

But maybe...maybe he's a delightful asshole.

'She's gone,' Clarke says, clearing her throat. 'You can... _oh_...'

He kisses her neck, then her jaw, and then her mouth again. His hands are on her hips. Her hands are wrapped in his stupid hair.

Definitely delightful.


End file.
